


Early Waltz

by blackdragonflower, ThinBlood



Category: Vampire the Masquerade - Fandom, VtM - Fandom
Genre: Mentions of Sexual Content, Original Male Character - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackdragonflower/pseuds/blackdragonflower, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinBlood/pseuds/ThinBlood
Summary: These events are followed in the current RPG of Vampire The Masquerade, 5th edition, by the vew and Roll-based actions of my character Alle. Alle does not answer or think for the other characters and won't be acting other than the current events.Nevertheless, there's information that were previously discussed with the group but not with the readers so i hope it still a good journey even without some holes fixed!





	1. Awakening.

Early evening, Waltz.

Even though Waltz is known by its sheer stench of smoke and sweat, by long lines of cocaine and the racket of terrible, oh so terrible music, the earlier it gets to ‘morning’ the more the music sounds slower, calmer. A bass is being tuned and on a handmade coffin that’s covered in stinky old blankets and painted a dull tasteless black, rests the vampire Alle. The paint is chipped, the wood not polished.

At least, he tries to rest as the music reverberates in his confined space. He knows it is his bass getting readied for him, but it’s still too early to leave his coffin safely. He picks a cigar butt from under his pillow, one of many that lay there as his bed does, along with an almost empty lighter shaped like a canteen, stolen. Cigar lit, he lets the smoke form a thin layer over him, getting a bit dizzy in the head from the lack of oxygen.

He won’t die because of it, not again. 

‘You will,’ the introspective voices of his constant madness keep teasing. They’re weak and meaningless like they always were, at least in the current status quo. It is almost impossible to count time and hours as he dives into constant distractions, fighting feelings so much to keep them at bay. What brings him back to focus is his one night stand who’s leaving his room without a goodbye or anything.

Not that he cares anyway.

He follows a tad later, not caring to dress up more than putting on his old ass jeans, a pair very close to the pair he had on when he died. Just like that hell day, he's also shirtless, his chest exposed as if daring Death to take him by the hands. Walking out without shoes he steps on broken glass, dried fluids he wants to believe is just vodka or beer, and so much dirt piled on the corners

The place is nasty, he won't argue the fact. If it was any cleaner the lowlifes wouldn’t feel like the place is meant for them, meant to be their grave as they kill themselves. Some drink away their very lives, other smoked their air away.

The dealers, the depressed, the crazy, all are welcome to Waltz, Alle being one of them.

Down on the first floor, Gina is almost done tuning the bass, an instrument so old the arm has some splinters. The woman isn’t surprised when Alle plucks at it without the shoulder strap, holding it like it is nothing with his left arm, checking the tuning. 

Sometimes Alle can’t believe she is not a vampire, her tuning being finer than the Glock she carries around. Waltz is a nightmare of a place. And Gina’s a nightmare of a woman. Baleen approaches after having a chat with a much older vampire named Kizar, the said night stand, and without being given a chance to talk Alle steals the cigar from his servant’s mouth. It’s a thin line under his leather mask, hiding his monstrous face. If Waltz wasn’t a place for all sorts of heavy metal and death threats, Baleen would’ve been mistaken for a BDSM enthusiast. But here he is nothing more than a Rammstein fan. The leather covers the ruins of his face and skin, a thin thing that feels like the remains over a corpse, a sign of his fall as a vampire.

Alle speaks of the news, the schedule of his show. The drummer keeps harassing a girl that soon pulls a knife. Alle likes her response. These women are the soul of the place. All of them powerful in their own sort of way, and he is a silent shadow for them, making sure the men around wouldn’t dare to threat. Thinking of women, Alle offers his cigar to Gina with a small tilt of his head. She takes it and leaves, her long nails shorter on the middle and ring fingers of both hands, dark red nails. Blood, he though.

The bar is getting fuller and fuller as the time passes. It’s not even 8:00 pm and there are already people blitzed from weed and heroin. Alle’s skin itches for the needles and he indulges the desire, ever so briefly, while his one-night stand borrows his phone. 

The younger vampire watches with a smile on his face as Kizar tries to sort out how the tiny thing works. Alle doesn’t miss a beat to mock the man, moving the phone away as Kizar tries to sort out how exactly the voice got in there, and where he has to speak in order to be heard. Older vampires are hot as hell but are equally as dumb with their perceptions.

Baleen is there, around them, fingers with claw-like nails twitching. Yeah, Thursdays are the day that named the place. Thanks to Cain’s influence, the bite from the needle, Alle’s head is at its peak performance when he takes the stage and starts to play songs of his own composition. He is one of the only acts that doesn’t have the guttural sound in his vocals. Hidden beneath poor metaphors for drugs he sings a call, a dare, to be put under the earth with the reverberation of his bass following his crude and tasteless lyrics.

Cliché, isn’t he? A vampire with a band, how droll.

The young vampire’s vision blurs. He can’t focus on the crowd. Mixed with the sounds, perceptions skewed from flying so high, he gets confused and dizzy. He almost misses his step and falls from the makeshift stage. The crowd doesn’t bother to cheer or enjoy the show as would be expected. They desire music that follows their deepest dreams, brought to the surface with the uneasy help of alcohol and sex.  
‘It’s okay,’ he thinks. He wouldn’t cheer either, but yelling at the top of his lungs is a relief, a loud cry for war, a loud cry for death. For the ending song, he picks on the crowd for making a small shitty mosh pit for Ratamahatta. During bits of it, he feels the hair on the nape of his neck raise.

Prey.

He finds a man in his mid-fifties almost passed out, right there in the middle of the establishment. The chaotic mosh pit made of drunken humans proves a great distraction. Alle lets the feelings come. Tears glisten on his cheeks. The reasons of why they came were unclear. Sensations he doesn’t understand fill him, almost like he’d crossed into a plane of ethereal existence. With the way his fingers heavily miss the chords, it’s as if he’d never learned how to play. His gaze lingers on the old man.

Then, madness.

He lets his own madness become part of him, and he can feel the man drop as his eyes forgot they could see. His prey lets the bottle fall as Gina and Baleen rush to get him quickly. The excuses are the same as always, “we don’t want y'all to step on him,” or “we’re getting help.” Anything fitting would do, but really, no one cares. Most of these sad creatures went missing unnoticed and nothing bothered those of the Waltz to pay attention to the poor targeted soul. He wasn’t even the first one of the night to fall. Three people are passed out in the corners. A woman vomits her guts out as her girlfriend holds her.

But the targeted man is trapped, eyes seeing but blinded. Ears hear the surreal sounds of fears, the brain is unable to tell apart reality from fantasy. He cannot scream. Or maybe he is screaming, inside his poor, sad, human brain, forced to eat the madness of almost a hundred years, a vampire’s madness.

By the time the man is gone the song’s over. Only two people boo the missing lines and bass chords, which went unnoticed by the rest of the public. Alle’s tears and the small hard-on of seeing that man fall victim to his chaos goes just as unnoticed. He is somewhat proud of how he can bear the noises echoing inside, bear being victim to this severe illness of the mind.

He feels more than that, extreme excitement. He does not fight to hide his fangs or his movements: inhuman, cold, clean. Without thanking the crowd, without talking, he drops the bass to the stage as if it’s some cheap object to be easily forgotten like a pen and leaves. Cursing the owner of the Waltz under his breath, the drummer runs to pick the instrument up.

Alle knows where his prey will be. Willing to show his friend a few of his habits he signs for Kizar to follow with a grimace. The anxiety now builds inside. His hands are damp and his confidence has vanished. He’s picks another cigar up from God knows where, smoking it fast and sort of furiously as if the anger will help it to take effect.

Gina is already heading out of the room. She never asks anything about how shady things look, but then again, she hardly cares as she is the one who bribes the cops anytime it is needed. She’s probably killed more than three or four people herself and no one knows her business either. She leaves with a mouthed “enjoy” on her lips.

Could she be figuring it out?

Would it matter?

Hardly. She obviously cares so little.

On the corner, almost invisible, the nosferatu Baleen watches the man lying on an old and rusted hospital stretcher, covered in fluids and mostly blood. The man’s unable to move and yet is without a single physical restraint. The man is free to go, but his mind has chained him. What could he be listening to?

Alle walks now, passionate, and completely forgets Kizar’s presence. Paying no attention, he drops onto the floor to hold the man’s hands with so much respect it would be holy if it wasn’t just miserable. They are calloused hands, the tips of the fingers darkened either by hard work or illness, stained with the smell of vodka. The man’s pants are soaked in piss because his body couldn’t hold out any longer as dementia devoured his head from the inside. The view is nasty overall with unfitting clothes full of holes, the fabric discolored and stained with marks of sweat and oil. Under his unkempt beard is damp sweat, his back row of teeth are rotted, his drool stinky with traces of vomit. There are unmatching shoes on each foot.

Like Alle, the man hears the melody of madness.

Alle holds the hand and draws it closer to his own face, cheeks smooth and hairless. He presses the palms against his lips, kissing the disgusting hands which are fat with hydration problems from years of alcohol abuse, skin and countless horrors under the nails which are only trimmed via tooth and a swiss army knife. And oh he loved it, the misery of these low humans. Loves the dull and hard skin that tell stories of their ruin, like fallen rocks and vines in old temples. He inhales the smell, drinks the sweat, lets it smear on his lips and tongue now. There’s a disgusted sigh.

It is terrible but grows worse when Alle stands up. He’s watching the man now, not letting go of the hands that he keeps on his face like a child desperate for its mother’s care. He watches the eyes not reacting to the dim light as it flickers above, the breaths so random it is surprising he hasn’t passed out yet. Drool now forms a damp pool on the shirt and oh Alle wonders how this stranger is bearing it all. Hidden behind the fat fingers is a cruel smile as he wonders what the man is seeing, hearing. Alle knows it’s the things he sees, he hears, every day.

Every single day for a hundred years.

He can’t stop seeing it, as it eats the man, as it eats himself. The eyes, which the man has opened, are the color of his. The lips which had been thicker and cracked now feel so soft. Both share the cruel bond of life and death, of a thousand taboos written by mankind, but not shared within one mind. Both of them share the long drawn-out whisper that asks so many times: why, how, when?

The old man is so like him. His hair could’ve been so pretty and long but the lack of care makes it oily and troubling to caressing touches. Tiny moans which escape the lungs of a victim, so like him. Cries strangled by the madness, the detachment from reality, so like him.

So like him. Yes.

The sweet bloated corpse is now him. For a moment his brain can’t tell them apart, who’s who, as Alle feels his hands which are not his hands touching his own cheeks. He feels the same hands on his own. He’s lost far beyond the weirded out expression of Kizar and indifference of Baleen.

Who knew it would take so long? Kizar didn’t have a heart for sick bullshit, this living poetry that didn’t touch anyone’s heart or mind. The charm of the unspoken words is lost to deaf ears as he picks up his own dagger and calmly pushes the blade into the old man’s left eye, playing with the body like he played with the targets on his list.

A great and terrible scream, a horrifying scream of agony, from Alle, threatens to overtake the song playing in the bar over them. It is a scream of sheer pain that scares Baleen and Kizar as Alle holds his own face.  
‘Kizar’s stabbed me, stabbed my eye!’ Alle’s brain tells him. His brain believes it so damn much he feels the phantom pain of it, not understanding why he can see out of the missing eye now being toyed with on the palm of Kizar’s hand.

He sees the body laying there, his body with the socket where the eye should be. It’s his blood spilling while his head feels light. His stomach is tenser than overtightened strings around a tuning peg as he tries to hold in the disgust, the fear spawned from the image of himself lying there. Lying like the old man who hadn't felt pain, his body not reacting to the impulse of his nerves.

The warm blood…

The warm blood doesn’t even reach Alle’s nose, nor touch his face, yet he still hollers in pain from the stabbing.

"What’s going on? Is he gonna keep staring in silence like this?”

“You bet, sir. 'an’t tell what’s goin’ on in there. Never bothered him before.”

“You two never shared?” Kizar asks, surprised that Alle doesn’t offer them the filthy man.

“We do sir, but he’s always doin’ som’ weird shit before lettin’ me have it.”

Alle is deafened by his own scream, the sound reverberating in his ears. He turns his head away from his body on the rusty bed. The twist is enough to spin his vision and make him puke a clear vomit that consists of alcohol and not much else. He tries to walk away, knees weak as his brain forces him to replay the image over and over, over and over, of his own eye, the black eye, on Kizar’s hand.

He’s lost his appetite, lost his will and strength. He struggles to leave the place that is now so bright and clear as if it is being scorched by the sun itself. He can’t find the way out. His blinded eye is there, but not communicating with his mind which is somewhere else.

He’d fight if he could. Who is the man that dared to blind him? The knife is so familiar.

The doorframe offers him support as he finds out that his missing eye can tear up, can blur, like the reality surrounding him.

Or a surreality, per say, dragging him into its depths as he no could no longer hear anything or clearly see.

“Eh, he’s losing it,” Baleen comments with a sigh. “Long night ahead, it seems.”

“Tight!” Kizar laughs, interested more in the blood than anything else at the moment.

Alle didn’t want to look, but he didn’t have to. It’s his body laying there. It’s his body that’s calling, asking for the end. A meager request, a long lingering beg to defy the death that created him a hundred years ago.

“And this is what’s left, what’s left of you! A corpse, a corpse. A corpse that can no longer stand in place, stay standing in this reality. Do you know your name? And then what else do you know?” his body cries from behind him. The hair becomes longer and longer. The ends become liquid, gross like oil and tartar.

“Shut the fuc’ up!” He whines low, behind unmoving lips.

“See, he’s hummin’ now,” Baleen observes. “Ain’t that dope or what?”

“Is it like this every time?”

“Nah, sir. He usually dances with the corpses.”

“Disgusting.”

Baleen laughs. “It sure is, sir.”


	2. Landlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second session of the VTM RPG with friends!

Waking up isn't an easy job when you had to go to slumber tied up, drugged to the limit of an human body, undeniably crazy, hallucinating after seeing yourself die. He had to kill that clone of him that kept chasing his mind, his dreams and threatening to take the other eye and eat the heart. And even for him, killing a human wasn't a thing he did often.

But against the odds, he's awake, this time a box of cigars laying on the roof of his coffin, making a soft noise from the fall when Alle lifted the cover.   
"Sleep well, boss," said the note. Ballen.

Nice fella, after all, wasn't for his horrifiyng face.

Today's a busy day, he needs to put back the supplies long missing from the crude shelfs, and the blood supply he refuse to fix; he never had one, drinking the thin blood from the drunkyards and the tainted tasting-like-dirt blood from the crazied.

Leaving his room, he paces through the tiny maze that drove to his slumber and goes to the hall where gina's already serving beer and whisky, this time to a mostly sober clientel. Alle approaches, feeling sorta hungry, but everything ruined when gina pushes him the papers and a stolen pen. 

"Today's the day boss, make your calls or all we'll have to serve is blood."

"I don't really wanna, ginn," he whined, trying to follow up the joke that was too close to home to his tastes. 

Blood though.

His stomach groaned a bit in protest, his eyes phasing through the plank and some papers with his savings and portions, all the blood marked as wine in old bootles that had unreadable labels. And there was so very little, less than it was meant to. 

\- Awful shit, - Alle complained, the cigar on his lips even before anyone could see where he picked it from. - Low on wine huh?

Baleen laughed from behind him, approaching with the broom that was cleaner than the floor, when did Alle keep blood within the place? All of the vampires there, from less than four regulars, had blood with them. Hunting is easy on grounds like this, and sometimes it was a bit of fun to lose yourself on maddened lips.

Gina kept her attention around, the place so much fuller than the usual, and also an unusual crowd; some too dressed up, most of them clean and everyone had a frown on a bad look on their faces, stressed. And everyone felt out of the place in exception of Alle, who insisted on look to the sheets and papers, trying to 'feel' the numbers and see if they had anything at all. Other than debts. Reading and making calculations was baerely impossible to him.

Kizar woke up late that time. No sex and no adventures, given the previous night, the indirect stab at Alle's eye. That left a sour taste on both's lips, and alle had to be put to sleep with eyes blindfolded, was morning when he stopped figting the voices and paranoia and let his body laiy to waste.

He approached, looking good and full of vigour. "How's the eye, pal?"

No.

Baleen rusehd to gesture, like cutting his neck off, to shut up. Not now and not a good moment, it was too fresh, but too late as well as Alle began to dissociate on command, flashes from it, the lingering pain.

Gina wasn't having it today, working alone with a crowd that big and that strange, and odd; she picked heroin from the underside of the counter, being she one of the dealers there, and skillfully injected on alle, who didn't answer to the pain or anything at all for the next two minutes.

Then he blinked, and there was already cocaine there, a stolen credit card on gina's hands as she made the line and drove alle's head by the hair to it. 

\- Not her first rodeo, i see. - Kizar added, laughing a bit but none of them having much to add, wouldn't that be clear when dealing with malkavians, that was a bad idea to poke open wounds. Even gina, who was human, knew that it was something that happened recently.

The credit card appeared to be from a white male on his forties, maybe he liked a lot barbecue but stopped having those sort of social encounters with the passing of his husband, Alle though, the depression that follow making him lose the guard of his teens to his ex wife, and the hair was the only think kept on him, even though alle has never seen the man, but was it because his husband liked the hair? His mind delved into those whispers of the object he had in hands as he let the cocaine rest inside him. He hoped to taste the man's blood to make sure of the sad ending of this drama.

Kizar looked around, the smell of alcohol lower than expected, and so many odd looks directed to them: they weren't standing out anymore, the crazy drunken man and woman weren't the ones watching. Pry eyes.

He poked Alle, that finally regained some sort of conscience.

\- Alle, how many of us there's around here? Just curious.

He heard the voice but his lips were a bit disconnected, so he raised his hand. "3," then pointed to Baleen and himself, and with a smile, to Kizar.

\- Bitch, then don't look around there's about forty here today.

He was kidding right?

He had to be.

Alle's zone was human, mostly, and vampire population was less than thirty, most of them travellers or goers that appeared and left without a trace or warning, without a single killing. The zone was controlled and that was beyond Alle's worst nightmare.

His humans, his humans he fought to keep there, the chaos coming and driving them away, competitive hunting grounds, the hunting that made the humans feel less and less safe, forcing them to leave that area that was on the verge of hell.

Hell.

Gina gave him two big shots of vodka.

He drank in two swigs. Not having time for this bullshit of his head right now. The heroin made his brain answer, the cocaine lifted his muscles. The vodka? Nothing really but the game was on.

He looked around, feeling hazy and tired, feeling so little motivation to deal with that, to hell it it, he wanted to bear loud. To be frankly, he couldn't spot a single vampire, they all seemed so human to him, and for a moment he though kizar was having fun with that, wasn't for his stoic features, the vampire's different clothes, their sheer movements and body language. How clean. Even with his head off the rails he was still keen when it came to checking people's behabior and vampires were so loud with their actions.

\- Bal, take gina to her home. I don't want her here.

-Sir? Me? Taking care of Gina? Push me off a cliff, would hurt less, sir. - Baleen complained, but his eyes under the leather mask met Alle's, the unusual eyes of 'i'm serious here, pal', the hidden eyes of a leader that alle could be wasn't for his fucking curse. That man was a tiny little wasted mad genious.

\- She'll kill me if i- and was interrupted by Gina, who pushed him away by the face.

\- Ain't going nowhere, boss, gotta pay ma bills. - She smiled, taking the papers and sheets with her, unresolved as always. Alle was shit to deal with sometimes.

\- Ginn, i'm paying you, for it all. Today we have odd guests i dun want you around, i'm-

A laugh on one of the tables, and Alle forgot what he was saying. He just stood up, and followed the laugh, finding some vampires, as pointed by kizar (who whispered on his ears), playing cards, some shitty tabletop game. He sat down, uninvited, to the table. It went painfully silent as Alle stared at the man, a dude and four girls looking like they came from a punk-ish 80's novel. 

Then Kizar sat down as well, with a warming smile, showing the fangs to his blood brothers. 

\- So, what's up? this comotion here? - Alle asked, a bit distracted by the colorful images on the cards.

The man, a fat muscular fella with a bandana and a worn out jeans jacket answered, his brown skin showing black marks of dirt and oil. Biker. 

\- Y'all uninformed, huh? Bank's bein' robbed, we're out of reserves and well, gotta eat, don't?

\- Banks? - Alle stared as kizar asked, both a caught in a bit of surprise.

\- Ye, nasty, killed the lords and some subs, stole all the wine. Been three days ago, we're starving.

Alle was pissed. So they came to hunt. Not ten, not ASKING for a ground. They just came in open doors.

He stood straight on the chair that whined as his thin frame left. 

\- What Lord you serve? - alle asked, serious and with a scowl, hands placed over the cards, interrupting the game wholly.

Kizar was amused.

\- Why does it matter to you? None ya business, lunatic. - A woman on the table answered, clinking her glass with her friend's, cheering on the rude reply.

\- I'm sure i was pretty clear, who's your lord? - He replied, calm like japanese movies waters, undisturbed by the offense on his mental status, scar of his crazied bloodline.

The man huffed, annoyed, wanting to get back to his game of Magic The Gathering. - we're Ed's crowd man, why the fuck you ask?

Kizar let out a giggle, oh boy that's great.

Alle approached so close he'd almost kiss the man, foreheads touching in an unsighlty manner.

 

\- I'm the fucking lord here, and none of you are welcome, none of you asked me to hunt, and i want y'all gone.

The man went pale and the women went silent. So that tiny fucking bitch was the Lord, a drunken vampire without balls to bear his fangs, yet... A damed malkavian, one of the most unusual lords around, rare as Nosferatus. And even so, the weak frame and thin body that hid poorly defined muscles imposed some fear, less by the status and more about the eyes. The eyes of a lunatic that were as firm as their death as humans and reborn as vampires. 

The vampire could feel the anger build on those maddened eyes, that man was serious as ever. 

\- See, friend, - he started, with a weak smile and the fingertips almost white with the nervousism - we're just starving, c'mon we aint stayin' for long, it's chaos out there and Ed's dead. We're not feeling it, we promise to no-

\- Promise. I like that. Gather this puny team and spread the word that this place can be a hunting ground for those who obey the line. I've built this chaos and i want it to stay, kill more than two in this place and we're having problems. - Alle was smiling, an uncontrallable thing, a bit stressed by having to stand like this. He fuckign hated it.

\- I promise i won't make a fuss, sir! - the man was quick to answer, almost interrupting Alle.

\- Can you speak for this crowd? Are you their leader and will take responsability for them?

\- N-no, sir, i can only speak for my-

Alle beared his fangs in an angry threat, lowering his head until he was on the man's ear.

\- Then spread the fucking word, are you gnawled?

The man nodded. Called the women and began to leave, signing for the nearby tables. Kizar was almost peeing himself.

Alle's head tilted a bit as the eyes followed the man. After calling one or two tables, he began to look around more often, his shoulders didn't have the size it once had, his hands more tense. He was way more nervous and once the lights hit him, he was sweating a bit. any good observer could see he was breathing rather fast, uneaven.

A cruel smile on alle's lips, that man would feel the panic of being followed by a crowd at night, the feeling of being unsafe and watched, for the rest of the evening. He let the dementia run on the other vampire's body and mind, feeling his chest match the speed of the panic, a bit too into that.

\- Was it necessary, Al? - Kizar asked, laughing at the other's disgrace.

Alle took the warm whiskey left on the table by the group, drinking it and looking at the ceiling, like he was seeing something else. 

\- He must know what the humans here are feeling right now and fuckign why i hate intruders here. They ain't got to bother my humans. His chest got calmer and the man got more and more paranoid, shaking now and being helped by now what was a group of seven or so.

But there were a lot of others, humans or not, that didn't seem to bother with them or answer to the leaving group's call. Not Ed's it seems.

Vampires, Alle bet, from other lords. So it was really chaos out there, one or two strong vampires would've been a defiance, this many crowding Waltz was a refuge. He hated it. He personally didn't like other vampires, their nasty pride and sorrow. He quite didn't like himself at all. He felt a hand on his ass then a poke on his shoulder.

Was kziar taking his phone, holding it like it was ceramic. "Check your stocks, you see, things's serious," he suggested, but-

\- Ain't got a stock. - He answer, interrupting Kizar. - Not how it work's here, fam. - He stopped, thinking a bit. - See, are you up for a paid job?

Kizar was interested, nodding and showing a smile, finally a request on his area of expertise. 

\- You'll protect the surroundings, i want to know about fights between vampires and what's bugging the humans, and info, specially info on when those fucking bastards will leave, what will take 'em to leave! And my humans. don't let em' die. - Almsot felt like Alle cared for the said humans.

\- And payment?

\- Dude, you've got pick between drugs, drunks or sex.

\- No money? Forreal, no money, Alle?!

\- Bitch i ain't got none, you know it. - Kizar huffed to the suggestion, but acceped more out of boredom than anything, he was also interested on the unfolding of events. He's visited Waltz before and that change of pace felt like a party coming, or maybe an special guest soon.

\- Then call Jack, we need guns.

He did call Jack, with some aid by Alle, being him the one who actually knew how to use a damned smartphone. Later Kizar answered that yes, he's got the goods and Alle promised again a payment he'd never deliver, another debt that not even death erased. Not having much time to waste with it, nor with gina-

Gina was beating someone else there, didn't she leave? Fuck, she had a baseball bad and was yelling somethign abotu not stealing the goods, not harassing, apparently that beaten fella was a fuckign vampire. That woman was scary as shit, as she apparently aimed for the kill. Blood everywhere making the place stirr, some with more control over the mask than the others, Ballen rusing to forcefully take Gina away, but was also hit by the baseball bat as she yelled 'how dare you! Get the fuck out!!'

Whatever, he let Kizar to deal witht he guns arriving and the fight inside.

He left the place to take a look around, standing at the doorstep of the bar. No answer. Then he breathed in, using the very few gifts he was given by being a shitty creature like a vampire. He let his mind wave, his eyes open but blinded by the noise, voices he didn't focus on reading but on feeling.

The same set from always, just a lot more of vampires. What a waste of concentration, but even so... Things were only this calm on the start of the war, it was just the first day he realized this, many would arrive and soon their personal stocks would run out, leaving the hunt as the only option. How many, only on his bad was forty, but the zone had some kilometers and how many others hid? Some liked the killing and most liked the hunting, others tormenting more than feeding. 

Fuckign shit.

Was raining and he didn't even realize, head full of shit and heroin dozing off.

His stomach kept protesting, then kizar came out, saying that they're bringing the Risottos. 

\- The fucking what.

\- Guns, the guns my dude. -He explained, there was a lame codename for everything, it pissed Alle off, the lack of creativity.

\- I see.

Then kizar started on how much it would cost, how he couldn't reach any line or intel about the blood banks and lords-

He was distracted. He had spot a guy, young, by his standarts, mid twenties, a worn out nirnava shirt and the very same cigar he had on his own lips. Kizar knew the drill, Alle couldn't resist man like that, man pretty much like him.

He was few meters away but Alle didn't waste time and calmly walked over, reaching him on his old beaten all stars and shirtless as always. He had a smile, showing the fangs to the drunken man, taller than he was, the hair long on the mohawk style, undone, wet, and just messy at this point. He aimed to the cigar, throwing the old one away and stealing the man's one, almost just a butt too.

\- Woudn't be great if vampires were real, my dude? - He catcalled, happy and with some color on him, like the hell of the decaying vampiric society and his own bursting madness weren't real in the slightest, at least not half as real as that man stading there, with a muffled laugh, a reverberating manly voice that only spoke on his wild dreams. 

\- Sure would, i'd like to meet em and see if they taste as good as the myths! - The man laughed, catching alle by the waistband and draging him to the corner, where an homeless woman slept under boxes.

Wasn't really a lie that drunk man fell easy for seduction, neither that vampires were themselves very interesting beings, easy to catch eyes even from the unaware humans.

\- Oh my fella, they're real and i'll show you - He laughed, openign his mouth to display the fangs there, they weren't as long as expected neither as pretty, but sure as hell were dope as shit.

The pretty man touched them, testing to see if they would fall, Alle threateing to bite as the other pulled him by the jaw to meet his lips, a messy kiss where the human explored those funny teeth, the tongue's tip lickign at them, less interested on the sex appeal than it should be.

But alle wasn't minding, embracing the other, the nails pressing with passion on his hips, the warmth he didn't have and the rain helped to hid, the man's breathing so hot he felt he'd melt, and that building hard on on his hips, pressing. He broke the kiss to pretend he had to breath, as the man bent Alle's knees to press him on the wall, dragging his hips to grind against his. 

\- Fuck man, you're so quick... aint running... - Alle teased, letting the manhandling continue, less rough than he wanted it to be, less violent then he would beg.

\- Not everyday we get a vampire... - He played along, aware or not it was no roleplay or game, more interested on the good looking Alle, the hair damp and jeans so damn tight.

\- Want it so bad huh, what an edgy kid you are...

And Alle played, letting go of the lips to lick at the chin, guiding the head up to trail his tongue on the adam's apple, then to the side of the neck, where the artery pumped the blood to the brain. Thick and excited, oh, alle was thriving for that, the foreplay almost cruel as he let his fangs press slightly, not piercing the skin, to play for that man's amusemed, the man who was finding a way under his pants.

But he was starving, and couldn't hold much longer before he sank his fangs, the man laughing at that, not bothered by the pain nor the blood, alle haven't hurt his artery. It was nothing but a game, he though, nothing but a play he'd tell stories later, to his girlfrind he was cheating on, to the friends that never listened to his stories.  
.. yes, nothign but...

And soon his pressure lowered a bit, Alle unable to hold, pierced the artery, not enough to kill but the body fell over him, awake but dizzy. The alcohol consumed earlier helped a lot. The man was mumbling in between his laughs, so he was actually with a vampire? Nah, bullshit, he didn't believe that, was just some man with weird kinks and he had drunk a lot too, t'was a good explanation, yeah. And he was so heavy as Alle kept on drinking, enjoying the hardness going soft against his groin.

And Alle's getting harder with the fresh blood that permeated his veins.

And he fought hard to not kill, that one not being enough. 

He pushed the man to the side, then climb on top of him, to kiss the pretty young lips with blood smearing like a lipstick. He almost came to that sight, the blood there lips, the dizzy man drunk on the blood loss laughing with pleasure. He was so damn high.

He then stood to leave, an idea on his mind as he walked back to Waltz, interrupted only by kizar

\- Bro, has a canteen?

Alle papped his backside, then legs, shrugging. 

\- Don't think so, no.. - And left undisturbed.

Bullshit, in this chaos, Alle didn't have a single recipient to store blood? Not a single bootle? Kizar would have to make do, looking around to find some long beer cans. The blood would taste awful, he though, approaching the cute man who laid on the dirt, laughing to himself and foundling his partts. Daydreaming.

Did Alle made that for fun, was it dementia? No... Who could knew. Malkavians.

Alle then got back in Waltz, leaving his friend and his blood collecting behind, walked up straigh to the stage and up to the gruitarrist of the band playing, interrupting the song aburptly. This time it was a different crowd, mostly a sane and less drugged one, booing him for the cut.

He did still have some blood on his lips, though wet and smeared, and he did still have a building hard on.

And he laughed, seeing the world spinning in excitement, the blood flowing and pulsing through his whole body, the warmth of it almost making him moan while he drank every single bit of the sensation, almost forgetting he had an statement to make.

Oh shit and he had to think on a way to say it that all could understand but not break the mask, the fuckign masquerade game the preps at the Camarilla enjoyed so much.

\- Listen up, y'all bunch of weirdos here, the ones who's today first time at Waltz. The bassist from Landlord has a message - Giving his shitty band a name felt right even though he havent in some years, he could bullshit it later - and let me tell you, here's a death metal scene. Here we play by the rules of old bands and old crunchy nasty guitar chorus. And we LOVE the way it is, we love this. And-

Some of the crowd went "Wooo!!" to the calling, most of them vampires. Few humans.

\- And we ain't changing this place. We ain't changing the flow of those bad songs that play here now since the 30's. We like this the way it is, for the goers and newcomers. So, The Landlord thank your for your visit and place a threat: Us, better, I, don't want to listen to new songs and new beats. Change the track and we're having problems here.


	3. Unforeseen Consequences

After the bearing fangs like the lord he was, after the dare to any low vampire who dared to disturb the order, he had to step down, and even before he could think on any answer, he head man complaining. "Where's the focking beer," "where's the godamn food?"

Yeah, Gina wasn't there. Godanmit. He paced to the counter to get heroin, on the small safe gina had there. she didn't leave the keys but he knew well there was one on a empty bootle of jack on the top shelf, he picked it and with a tiny moan injected on his arms, arms that beared no mark of any needle. 

Healing, isn't it.

He began to serve himself all the dishes, cold, not even giving a single fuck for frying some shit or anything, most of the requests were booze anyway, drunk requests that were shallow this evening. The place was crowding with vampires.

Talking about them, where was kizar? He didn't fucking care. Walking to a corner, he held a vampire, late forties and also a complete nutjob, and asked for intel.

The only thing the man gave him were looks to fantasy places and some butterflies. Malkavian, and a pretty jacked malkavian. To the hell with it he couldn't even have a subordinate that wasn't a disgraced malkavian, he had no time for this shit today, no fucking time to deal with cheap ass madness, he needed answers and the heroin helped him to focus, getting angrier by the minute.

He's got his phone, calling the numbers he knew, trying to reach for anyone who could know what's up. Thiago answered, another malkavian under his feet, and even so, useless too: The man, even being a gargoyle on top of buildings didn't see the approach of what was about seventy vampires entering the zone. He had no excuse and Alle didn't bother to ask him, knowing well how their minds played tricks.

"Booze here, scrawny fag!" A man yelled, tossing the empty bootle at Alle that not even by far had the same authority as Gina did. But twice the patience.

He spent some moments doing so, serving ungrateful people and nasty fellas, gethering odd eyes from vampires that now realized he was the Lord. A lord serving them, a lord that walked the same steps as they did. Barefeet now, steps making no sound so unlekely his mind, that so noisy that covered the sounds nearby. He could feel so many things, so much anger and so much frustration of those surrounding.

Fucking hell, he didn't need it, his own mind now perusing the heads of others, their intent and wishes, their sorrows. Bullshit, "BULLSHIT," he yelled, angered by the thoughs and feelings he heard on top of the thousand others that ate his brain and transformed him in the ill monster he was.

He stepped out of the place, leaving it to the well known lack of menagement, to find, oh? To find Kizar, in the middle of the street, looking mezmerized at something, like he himself was often found.

The cars made noise, the people gathered to watch something going on with their sadistic smiles, a driver stepped out to find motive to lash out on someone, but by the time she closed the door Alle was already trying to drag Kizar away.

And Kizar resisted, but not putting effort. He was... Smeeling like blood, sorta fresh, and was completely damp by the rain. He dragged his one-night stand and somewhat short time friend to a corner of the bar, a place that some other losers slept, smelling like piss (just a bit) and vomit (by a lot). Alle felt a shiver when he stared at kizar, open eyes giving in some kind of hallucination.

Wasn't even two days and there was already trouble here, he was under some effect, some crazy effect, and maybe the blood on his lips could tell a story, the tasty blood that made Kizar's features so sexy... Alle, you sick bitch.

He tried to wake him up, to slap his face and nothing worked, but he could tell that the other vampire felt at home, his mind knew it, somehow. Was the way he moved slow, the way he let his head drop, the fact he didn't seem to be fighting for anything on that vision.

But alle's heart pounded, he wasn't trhisty but he just loved with a burning passion the blood smeared lips, a so damn erotic sight of it, so fucking damn erotic.. Oh, by Cain, he couldn't...

Kiss.

He bent down on Kizar's lips to kiss that tongue enrolled in blood, the lips now smeaking his own, climbing on top of the other to have a better taste at that, an... Tainted blood. Human blood. Human blood of someone on the verge of an overdose.

Well, fuck. That was the motive of Kizar's hallucination then. Contamined blood, and wasn't even whole thirty seconds and he was also hearing and seeing, in a blank background, Gina. And it was the horryfing view of Gina being kind and calling him with the most gentle voice, like an fucking angel.

He could laugh if his body answered to that, he couldn't command it all but could feel, and he felt Kizar's hands trying to push him away from the top of him, now two drunk on blood man fighting slower than snails. He tried to bite Kizar's hands, but was unable to tell where they were, so he let his body fall frontward to rest on top of Kizar's.

It was lame how an fowl human body could do this, this to those said to be powerful sacred vampires, that could bend reality and metal under their will, and yet takes only a badly drugged human to take both man down.

He wanted it to pass, he had the whole bar, he was now worried about Gina's safety, in the middle of so many vampires, and Baleen havent retuened yet, it was a terrible time, he barely could hear the sounds of the bar behind him.

He felt a sharp, perfuring pain on his neck.

It was the most pleasurable thing he'd ever felt, he.. He could scream, and was unsure if he didn't. 

His whole body in shock, the muslces tensing at first then releasing like if he entered nirvana, an immense calm and so very sinful pleasure overcoming his mind. It was even better than any desire he's got, anything, any blood he has ever tasted and even his very first death when he was almost sure he saw Cain himself, kissing his desperate dirty lips.

He didn't fight and couldn't fight, couldn't answer other than moan in blissful pleasure as the fangs suevered his artery, his eyes now leaving the drugged blank background to start to lose pressure, he was starting to get dizzy. Kizar.

He... He was being consumed by Kizar. Those fangs were his.

He'd hug him but his hands didn't have strenght anymore, he had lose it, now the arms felt limp and even so, even with the lack of blood, they felt warm and so very alive, motionless and so full of life...

... His ears had deafen, he could only... Only feel that, the faint and desperate beating of his heart, the loud and incredible sound of both heratbeats, his and Kizar's, in sync, in sync intil the moment Kizar's felt like a frenzy and his felt like stopping...

... He didn't ehar how loud he moaned, a pleasure not sexual and yet so damn erotic, his mortal body trying to follow the pleasure of his mind and yet so not sure if it was sexual or purely holy. His body now, colder, his heart stopping, finally, a depressing smile on his lips.

The most handsome man he has ever seen extended the hands to him, to take him somehwre else, and he couldn't know, and even worse, he could not reach, his arms wouldn't move.

His lips wouldn't speak.

His heart has stop beating.

He had been taken, he had been ate like a human.  
Felt good. Felt holy.

He could've never asked for somehting so good. He didn't do anything to deserve that wonderful feeling, like ascending.

Then it was only a terrible panic, an undiscribled fear that coursed though the following events, Kizar, fueled by the blood he took, both by accident and both by his very own nature as a cannibal, setting fire to the bar.

The wood bending on Waltz's last sing, a last howl to the skies as the fire overcome the last song with it's terryfing chirping.

The chaos as Kizar broke the mask, yelling to everyone nearby thet he as killed the Lord, that he has killed his friend and now this small part of London was declared free hunting grounds. 

Kizar then ran, ran for his very own life as the other vampires with their maddening hungry eyes followed, a taboo, two, two in the very same night. The mask's gone.

Alle's gone too.

He's being followed, he truns, fully excited by the frenzy, shots down on the vampire that follow, the fella with a very messed oily hair, lips that beared a cigar, well known, a jeans so very tight, shoeless.

But wasn't Alle, that one, a coward spirit that was phased by the bullet that hurt his hands, running now for his life as Kizar also aimed to take him down.

The vampire ran with a primal fear only preys knew, he ran until he was sure the other couldn't reach, Kizar.

He was crying, the pain not even crossing his mind, the pain being nothing else then a lingering dread.

Molly could only cry now.

**Author's Note:**

> Blackdragonflower helped me with Beta-Reading and editing my mess, and adding taste to the text body as whole! Thank you a lot!!
> 
> PS: English isn't my first so my sinceres apologies!  
> Enjoy!


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